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"Anna."
"Then that's where we'll send her. You want to go call the friend and make arrangements? I'll hold Mary until you come back."
Jake walked into the bedroom. Michael glanced at Nikki. She'd crossed her arms and was carefully holding herself away from him. The anger he could feel in the link was evident in the glitter in her eyes.
"This is part of what I do,” he said, keeping his voice even, unapologetic. “It's also probably the least of my sins when it comes to getting a job done. It's not something I intend to stop just because it bruises your sensibilities."
"Damn it, she has a right to choose her own destiny."
"So you'd rather she stay here and die?"
"No, and that's not—"
He touched a hand to the warmth of her lips, stopping her words. “The point is, I'm trying to stop a killer, and I will do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. I don't care whether you like it or not. It's what I do. Accept it and get past it."
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Fine,” she muttered. “I'll say no more about it." The stubborn look on her face suggested that while she might not say anything more, she'd definitely be thinking it. He smiled and touched her chin, gently directing her gaze back to his. “One of the things I love about you,” he said softly, “is the ungracious way you give in when you know you're wrong." He brushed a kiss across her lips. Her mouth was warm and pliant under his, and the kiss deepened. Heat simmered through the link, a yearning that could not be quenched for some time yet. Eventually she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"And one of the things I love about you,” she said, eyes dancing with amusement and desire, “is the way you make me want you, even when I'm so damn mad at you I could spit fire." Jake came back into the room. “All arranged,” he said. “I've booked Mary onto the eleven o'clock flight."
Michael nodded and began rebuilding Mary's memories, imprinting on her mind the exuberance of her seeing her friend again and making sure there were no doubts about the trip and leaving Jake for the next week. Then he released her.
"You'd better be getting ready if you want to make the plane,” he said, prompting her. Mary glanced at her watch and surged to her feet. “Ohmigod, you're right. Jake are you going to take me to the airport or not?"
"The limo has been booked, but I'll be escorting you out there.” He hesitated, waiting until Mary had left the room, then added, “I'll meet you two at Harris's later." Nikki rose. “I'll just go say good-bye, then we can get going." Michael nodded and glanced at Jake. “You got the address?" Jake handed him a card. “From what he said, she was snatched from her bedroom last night." He frowned. “Were they at a hotel or a bed and breakfast?"
"No. Private residence."
His frown deepened. “It can't be vamps snatching these women then."
"Well, it isn't human, that's for sure. Harris took a swing at the man and said he simply stepped back into shadow. If that doesn't sound like a vamp, then what the hell is it?" It certainly sounded like a vampire. The question was, how were they getting into the house in the first place? One of the few myths about them that was true was their inability to step into a private home unless invited. It couldn't be forced, but had to be freely given. It was doubtful if any man or woman would give such permission in the early hours of the morning. So how were these vamps getting in?
Chapter Ten
Nikki stepped onto the sidewalk and stared up at the beautiful old Victorian. Painted blue and yellow, it was a cheerful sight that belied the deep sense of sorrow and anger she could feel coming from inside the old house.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. Emotions were not something she'd ever been able to feel before now—not unless she was linked through psychometry to the mind of another. It was not something she wanted to feel now .
Michael climbed out of the cab and touched a hand to her back. “Let's get inside." She glanced up at him. His face had gone pink. Sunburn. “You pushing your limits?"
"It's past ten, so very definitely.” He opened the gate and ushered her through. Worry slithered through her. “It could be midday before we finished. What are you going to do then?"
"Let's worry about it then."
He climbed the steps and pressed the doorbell. A cop answered. Nikki all but groaned. It was hard enough to focus her gifts—harder still to control them, especially given the way they were currently changing. To try to do so in a room filled with disbelieving police officers would be next to impossible.
"Could you please tell Mr. Harris that Nikki James and Michael Kelly are here to see him?” Power caressed the air as Michael spoke. For a heartbeat, the cop's eyes went blank. She clenched her fists and bit back her instinctive comment.
The cop nodded and disappeared. A second later, a small, bearded man appeared, his brown eyes red-rimmed, face haggard. “Come in, come in, both of you,” he said and offered Michael his hand. “Neil Harris."
Nikki shook his hand in turn. His fingers were clammy, feeling oddly like wet parchment against her own. She had to resist the temptation to wipe his touch away afterward.
"The cops aren't too happy about me inviting you here,” he continued, voice raspy, almost harsh. “But I told them they could stick it. You found the other woman, and found her alive, and I'm not about to turn my back on any chance, no matter how remote."
He led them into the living room. Besides the cops, there were several suited men inside—Feds, she presumed. They were hovering around the phone, waiting for a call she knew would never come. Michael glanced at her sharply. Why not?
She hesitated, examining the distant, shadowy thoughts. Because he fears us. Or me. And he cares more about the revenge now than the money itself.
Which means we may not have much time to play with to rescue this woman. We don't. She rubbed her arms and tried to ignore the bitter fury that swam around her. Billie Farmer, if that was this killer's true name, had already begun to take his revenge on Anne Harris.
